


Cast Your Catbread Upon the Waters

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [6]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fishing trip brings everyone closer together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cast Your Catbread Upon the Waters

"You guys are so great," Murray said for maybe the tenth time. Nick wanted to tell him it was no big thing, nothing they wouldn't do for any other friend, but this wasn't just any other friend. This was Lieutenant Quinlan and it _was_ sort of a big deal.

"It's just a fishing trip," Cody said, ruffling Murray's hair and putting his arm around Nick.

"Yeah, but three days on the boat with Quinlan—you guys don't really want to do that. You're the best friends ever."

"Well," Nick said and Cody gave him a warning squeeze. Nick shot him a look that plainly said _just watch me_, and went on. "If he likes you, he can't be that bad."

"That's right," Cody said, squeezing Nick again, with gratitude this time. They hadn't spent a lot of time with Quinlan yet, but it was obvious that he liked Murray a lot. Probably even loved him, given the way he listened to Murray's science talk. On a couple of occasions, he had come over just to watch Murray work. That was the biggest surprise, to go down to the galley and hear Murray in his room explaining some obscure bit of programming or a bizarre conglomeration of soldered parts, and Quinlan responding with intelligent questions. It was beginning to sound like he knew what Murray was talking about after all. Or at least he wanted to.

"Anyway, men can always bond over fishing, right, Nick?"

"Yeah, always. Which reminds me, we're gonna need more bait." He checked his watch and saw that it was nearly six. "Any volunteers for the last trip to town?"

"You guys go," Murray said. "I'll finish up here and be ready when you get back."

Dawn was just breaking, the sun beginning to burn the fog off the water. It was Murray's favorite time of day and he liked to be alone for it. He stood on deck, watching his friends walk up to the car, their shapes vanishing in the shifting mist. For a moment their voices came back to him, twisted by the weird acoustics, and then they were gone. Murray stood at the rail a little longer, breathing salt fog and shivering in the damp. Then another figure emerged from the mist. The one he had been waiting for without admitting it to himself.

"What are you doing out here without your jacket?" Quinlan called up to him. "You'll catch your death, Bozinsky. And I'm not going to nurse you."

"Sure you would," he called back. "The guys just left, but they'll be back soon."

"Saw 'em on my way down." He handed Murray his duffle and climbed over the rail. "Great morning, isn't it?"

"Oh yes. I love the fog on the water. It's so mysterious and spooky."

"Sounds like you. I never knew a person who got scared so easy invite it so often."

"I don't get scared over real things, Lieutenant. You should see me in a gun fight. Nerves of steel."

"You with a gun? I don't want to see that." He let his hand brush Murray's hip, a reassurance and a promise, and Murray shivered again.

"I've shot people before, Lieutenant. I blew up a US Army helicopter with two American soldiers aboard. Sure, they were corrupt killers, but they were people, and I didn't think twice about it. I'd have killed more of them," he added thoughtfully, "but Nick wouldn't let me."

Quinlan thought for a second about that. About Murray willing to kill and only Ryder to stop him, and were he a lesser man, he'd have shivered, too.

"And yet, you still have nightmares about that bird in the Stephen King book."

"That's different," he shrugged. "That was _scary_."

"Ted, is that you?" came a familiar voice from the pier. Quinlan leaned over the rail and squinted into the fog.

"Morning, Mama Jo."

"What are you doing aboard the _Riptide_ this hour of the morning? You ain't arresting anybody, are you?"

"Not today. Going to do a little fishing."

"Fishing?" she snorted in disbelief. "Since when did the likes of you go fishing with these boys?"

"_You_ may be too old a dog to learn new tricks, Josephine, but _I'm_ not. You have a good day now." He took his bag from Murray and they went inside.

"I might be able to blow up choppers, but I couldn't do that," Murray whispered.

"I'm not scared of that old broad," Quinlan laughed.

"I wouldn't say that, either. You want some coffee?"

"Please."

Murray poured it and handed him the cup, rich and black, the way the older man always took it.

"Mama Jo wouldn't want this spread around," Quinlan said and Murray understood that this was going to be another of their many secrets, "but she's my sister in law. Or at least she used to be."

"You're kidding."

"She was married to my worthless half-brother. He took up with another woman and left her flat. She got him back in the divorce, took everything he had and bought that boat, and then she took up with a woman of her own. A few women, actually."

"No," Murray breathed, fascinated by the mating habits of his fellow creatures.

"Why do you think no one can score with the girls on her crew? Oh, she picks 'em real careful, believe me."

"So that's what you meant at her party, about the girls keeping her young?"

"She knows I know. And she told me that she was onto me, too, when she asked if it cut both ways. She probably doesn't know it's you, but she knows something."

"It'd have to be me," Murray said dismissively. "Everyone knows about Nick and Cody, don't they?"

"Anyone with eyes. So," he said briskly, ready to get down to business, "what do we need to do to get this tub underway?"

***

Cody dropped anchor out of sight of any kind of land, his favorite place to be, and Nick tried not to look at the horizon. In the air, the horizon was his friend, kept constantly in view. Out here, it meant he was on his own, with only the boat between him and an ugly death. Somehow he never applied that logic to his chopper, although that knife, like so many others, certainly cut both ways as well. He stopped thinking about it and went below, where he couldn't see.

"You get a lot of company out here?" Quinlan asked, helping Cody set out the fishing gear.

"Not much. There are better places to fish and people mostly go there. We compromise for the privacy."

He expected some kind of smart remark, but it didn't come. He had to remind himself that that was the old Quinlan. The one who hadn't been sleeping with Murray.

"I always join a charter when I want to fish," was all Quinlan said. "Have you ever gone up to Alaska?"

"A couple times. Not in my own boat, but I've flown up there and done a little charter fishing. Murray makes this great fish stew—if we catch anything, you'll find out for yourself."

"Yeah, the kid's a good cook," he said, putting his feet up.

"He cook for you much, Ted?"

Quinlan looked up at the unfamiliar sound of his given name, and decided that if they were going to be friends he should get used to it.

"Wouldn't be able to keep up with him if he didn't."

Nick and Murray came out then with coolers of beer and sandwiches, and the four of them arranged themselves in deck chairs, Nick on one side and Quinlan on the other, with Cody and Murray in between. At first Nick and Cody were cautious, worried about Quinlan's eyes on them and watching their behavior, but after a while the constraint fell away. It wasn't an hour before they were sharing cans of beer and whispering together like teenagers in study hall. Quinlan grinned knowingly behind their backs and whispered rude jokes to Murray, which he would never repeat, but obviously found very funny.

The afternoon wore on, hot and breezy, and everyone caught their share of fish, dropping them into a bucket of sea water to stay alive until suppertime. By the time they called it a day, Quinlan had taken the prize for biggest fish, while Nick had caught the most. Cody had caught the widest variety, including a very small hammerhead shark that Murray wanted to study, and that Nick couldn't cut loose fast enough. Being on the ocean was bad enough without having to bring its nastier inhabitants on board.

Murray went down to shower and then start supper while the others cleaned the fish. He hated to kill anything, and cooking was his trade-off. Quinlan thought about that as he gutted and scaled; how this gentle kid who couldn't cut the head off a fish could be the same guy who fired guns at people who threatened his friends. If he hadn't liked Murray before, he would have just for that.

"I wonder if we could have eaten the shark," Cody mused. "Murray could have made shark fin soup or something."

"I'm not that hungry," Nick said, neatly decapitating the last fish. "How're you doing there, LT? About got those babies scaled?"

"Just about. It's making a real mess of your deck, though."

"I'll hose it down as soon as we're done," Cody said. "There's a system that pumps up sea water for stuff like that."

"Good thinking, college boy."

"That's me, Ted. Here, I'll finish the fish. You go get a shower if you want, wash off some of those scales, and help Murray with the stew. He'd probably like that," he added with a wink.

"Funny," Quinlan growled. But it was true. And, further, he wanted to. He decided he may as well admit it; there would be no secrets on a boat this size. He handed the fish off to Cody and went below.

"Hey, Lieutenant," Murray said happily when he entered the galley, showered and dressed in fresh clothes. "Did you come to help, or just keep me company?"

"Whichever you want, kiddo. Something you need help with?"

"You could hand me the—uh—oregano off the spice rack there. Thanks." He set the jar aside and started chopping onions.

"Looks like you've got it under control."

"Yeah, I do this a lot. Have they got the fish ready yet?"

"Right here," Nick called, bringing in a bucket of fillets.

"Oh, great. Hey, there'll be enough to fry for breakfast, too."

"Good. You'll like that, LT. Murray makes the best beer battered fish. How long 'til we eat?"

"Half hour long enough?"

"Perfect." Nick put the bucket on the table and jogged up the stairs, two at a time.

"Long enough for what?" Quinlan asked.

"For him and Cody to take a shower."

"Together?"

"They do everything together," Murray said simply. "Here, can you open the wine for me?" He set a pot on the stove and poured a little olive oil in the bottom, then scraped the onions to the side of the cutting board and started crushing garlic. By the time he was finished, the oil was hot and he started dumping vegetables into the pot. Quinlan located the corkscrew and opened the wine while Murray chopped the fish.

"Everything?"

"Are you surprised?"

He thought for a moment, and then shook his head.

"Not really. So what about you? You just stay down here and cook while they frolic in the head?"

"I guess. It's always been my choice, you know. I could have left dozens of times, I've had job offers all over the world, but the guys—they love me. I don't get to frolic much, but they're my family."

Quinlan laid a hand on the small of his back, a comfort and a promise.

"I guess you think you're lucky, having anyone at all."

"I am," Murray shrugged. "I have other family, of course. My mom and my sister, a couple of aunts and uncles, but those are the people who have to love you, you know? Nick and Cody, they picked me. It's different when someone picks you."

"Yeah, it is," he agreed, his hand describing small circles on Murray's back. He knew the value of being chosen very well.

***

Nick and Cody went to bed as soon as the sun went down. They didn't feel like being subtle anymore, and there was no reason to hide. Their lovemaking was only a little bit quieter than normal, and Murray answered Quinlan's raised eyebrows with a shrug.

"This is what you do in the evening? Sit around listening to those two go at it like a couple of alley cats?"

"Well, Lieutenant, unless I'm thinking of someone else—and I'm not—you're something of an alley cat yourself. And no, this isn't what I usually do."

"So, what _do_ you do?"

"Lately, I've been over at your place. But when I'm home, and we're at sea like this—well, I'll show you." He led Quinlan out the side door and edged around to the foredeck, where the surface was broken by a hatch and the deck was too uneven for chairs.

"What do you do up here?"

"I look at things. It's better than the stern because it doesn't bother anyone, and I don't have to listen to Nick and Cody." Sometimes he liked to listen to them, but he didn't mention that. He sank down, folding his long legs under himself, and patted the deck beside him. "Come on, sit."

"What is it you look at, Bozinsky?" He didn't mind sitting on a hard deck in the middle of the dark ocean, but he did want to know why.

"Everything. I see falling stars sometimes, and jumping fish—once I saw a school of dolphins. And the cruise ships are all lit up like parade floats. They're really beautiful."

"Cruise ships? Kid, you're crazy."

"Maybe. But the dolphins are nice." He lay back and folded his arms over his chest. "Look, there's a falling star now."

Quinlan looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of it, then gave up and stretched out beside Murray. The boat rocked gently on the hook, and after a while Murray explained the meteorological phenomenon that made the water so still.

"How many years did you spend in college?"

"Well, three at MIT, as an undergrad, and then three more after the war to get my doctorate."

"So, six years. And how long does that take regular people?"

"It varies widely. Seven, I guess, is the median number, but ten isn't uncommon. It depends on the field of study."

"Sounds like a lot, just to sit out here and look at stars and cruise ships."

"You always miss the point. In just about any other job, I wouldn't have the free time to do things like this. I live a good life, Lieutenant. Shootouts interspersed with periods of unbelievable peace and quiet."

"I bet you don't even worry about retirement, do you?"

"Nope. Living on the boat is pretty economical and I'm able to put quite a bit aside for the future. It really is a good life."

"Lucky you. I have to bust my ass, and not get killed, for another ten years so I can retire on a pension that won't keep my cats fed."

"Your cats don't eat."

"And neither will I. But I'm not worried. Probably get shot long before then anyway."

Murray shivered and Quinlan moved closer, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

"Shouldn't be out here without your sweater," he murmured.

"I'm okay, it's not cold. Hey, look at that." Raising up on his elbow, he leaned across Quinlan's chest and pointed at the water.

"What is it?"

"A whale spout. See? It's like a fountain."

"Neat," Quinlan said, only half sarcastic. It _was_ kind of neat. But Murray was shivering and he was right, it wasn't that cold. He shouldn't have said that about getting shot. As if to make up for it, he pulled Murray close and kissed him. For a second Murray was still looking at the whale spout, and then the tongue against his lips called his attention away. He opened to the kiss, closing his eyes and giving himself over to the moment. He hardly noticed when Quinlan took away his glasses, and he suddenly found himself on his back without knowing how it happened. Quinlan was unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his slender throat to hungry, biting kisses, raising bruises that would still be there to testify when they got home. He spread the fabric and trailed wet kisses down Murray's chest, sucking his nipples erect, drawing forth soft moans of pleasure.

Murray was trying to be quiet and suddenly Quinlan didn't want him to be. He wanted to repay Nick and Cody for all the times they'd flaunted their love in Murray's face, and if it might be awkward in the morning, well, nobody was thinking that far ahead. He unbuckled Murray's belt and opened his fly, letting his hand brush the throbbing shaft beneath. Murray gasped and lifted his hips into the touch, groaning with disappointment when the hand disappeared. Then it was sliding up his belly, pinching one nipple while Quinlan bit the other, and Murray trembled though he was no longer the least bit chilled.

He arched into the touch, pleading for more contact, and always finding the other man just out of reach. It took him too long to remember that his arms were longer, that he could hold on if he wanted to, but Quinlan pushed his hands away.

"Be still," he whispered. "You move around too much. Just enjoy it for a change."

Murray reached back over his head and felt smooth glass under his hands, slipping and sliding, nothing to hold onto, leaving him adrift. But Quinlan's hands anchored him, easing him out of his jeans and sneakers, stroking his legs, teasing across his belly and the hollows of his hips. Murray was shivering, hot and cold, every nerve ending alive and pleading for that gentle touch. Then Quinlan's tongue was on his sac, sucking lightly before licking up the length of his shaft. Murray gasped, reaching again for his lover, and this time Quinlan caught his hand and held it.

Later, Murray would wonder when Quinlan got out of his clothes and where the lube came from, but at the moment those things didn't concern him. His last few operational brain cells were occupied by the mouth on his cock and the cool, gentle finger pressing into him. He raised his hips in a helpless, pleading gesture, groaning as the other man swallowed him deep, stroking inside him, probing carefully for his sweetest spot. Murray held onto the hand in his as if it were a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from tumbling overboard and drowning in sensation.

"Ted," he whispered, not even hearing himself. "More, please. Please…"

A second finger slipped into him and he cried out sharply, thrusting into the warm mouth and then driving himself down onto the curled fingers. They hit his gland hard and he cried again, a strangled sob of pleasure that Quinlan knew well, but that probably surprised anyone else who might be listening. The sound tapered off in a miserable sigh when Quinlan pulled away, forcing him to let go of the hand he held so desperately. Murray reached over his head again, finding the edge of the hatch and clutching it as if it would save him.

Quinlan knelt between his thighs and Murray lifted his hips again, arching his back, eager to be taken. Strong hands pulled him close, hard and fast, but the penetration was slow and sweet.

It was the first time they'd done it this way, face to face, and Quinlan wished for more light to better see Murray's expression. He could see the thin sheen of tears in the soft brown eyes, but knew they weren't tears of pain. Sweat was standing on the pale skin, tendons straining in thin arms and shadowed throat, but the details were lost in the moonlight. Touch and hearing were more useful senses here, and he gripped Murray's cock, sliding it slickly through his fist as they moved together, bringing forth more cries to fuel his own fire. But, oh, he wanted to see those eyes.

He slipped his arm under Murray's hips and lifted him easily, made him sit up and pulled him against his chest, leaning back on one hand to preserve the proper angle. Murray groaned in appreciation and rewarded him by pressing their foreheads together, giving him a good view of all the pleasure shining in his eyes. Quinlan kissed him, paused to tell him to keep his eyes open, and then ravaged his mouth as he fucked him, jacking him hard with one hand so they could come together.

It wasn't the best they would ever have, but it was the best so far, and Murray wept when it was over, his face pressed against Quinlan's neck, tears mingling with sweat on the flushed skin.

"Ted," he whispered, made brave by the darkness and the lingering heat between them. "I love you, Lieutenant. And you don't have to say it back, I don't expect—"

"Shut up, kid," he interrupted, gruff but gentle. "'Course I love you. Why else would I be here?"


End file.
